


At Dawn, the Birds Take Flight

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [7]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a short while – very, very short, in hindsight – it’s nice to have <i>free time</i>.  To have no one bugging him.</p>
<p>Well, except Thor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Who Knew this Place was Full of Everyday Miracles?</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p>
<p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as does the latter portion of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1345009/chapters/2804662">Spin</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When in doubt, there's always one sure-fire way to kill time.

For a short while – very, very short, in hindsight – it’s nice to have _free time_. To have nothing scheduled, no commitments, no one expecting him here or there.

No one bugging him. Well, except Thor.

By the third day, though, the once-odious idea of day treatment has fast gone from annoying to acceptable to flat-out alluring. More and more Loki is finding himself struggling to self-regulate, lost and frustrated and increasingly devoid of patience. He can tell his brother is trying, he can - he's not dead yet, or in the hospital, and that's proof positive right there - but it's painfully obvious his little banshee act last night wore heavily on both of them.

Like it or not he clearly needs the stability of a routine right now. And, galling or no, he knows he needs the support of a therapist... even if it means starting from scratch with a new one. Which this technically won’t be; he and the new woman have several conference calls and that super-sized packet of Loki's residential treatment records under their respective belts already. _Anna liked her on the phone,_ he reminds himself. _It’ll be fine_.

And if it’s not, he can always call up there and have Greg and Anna fix things for him. 

Two more days, the second of which is his formal day treatment intake and orientation. Just two more days. _You can do this,_ he tells himself firmly, flopping flat on his back on the bed and bouncing a little as he unclenches first one fist and then the other. _You can._ He inspects each palm closely, left after right, flexing his fingers back to stretch the skin. A little bit of bunched-up epidermis here and there, white-rimmed crescent moons flushing dark pink as the as the blood rushes back in, but no broken skin. No bleeding.

Just the same, he pops up and guiltily shoves both hands beneath his thighs when Thor bursts in.

"Don't you know how to knock," he asks his brother, trying to hide his own reaction behind a sizeable helping of mock-annoyance. "What if I happened to be masturbating?"

Thor grins. "Well, then, I'd be happy to assist you," his brother proclaims cheerfully, taking Loki by the shoulders and pushing until he loses his balance and sprawls out flat on his back again. "Any time you want." 

Loki makes a show of trying to wriggle loose, but he's effectively trapped with both hands stuck beneath him. That, and it really is just for show. "Let me up, you beast," he orders, laughing, and Thor half does, only to dig big, blunt fingers into his ribs and _tickle the living fuck out of him._

~

“ _Holy jesus,_ Thor,” he complains when he can breathe again. “What the fuck was that for?”

"I know you like to shriek," Thor says, shrugging, all sweet innocence. "I figured I could help with that, too," he explains, grinning broadly as Loki pulls a world-class pout. “No need to thank me,” he goes on, still smiling. “It was the very least I could do.”

His brother offers a big palm to help him sit up, then straightens. "I hate you, you know," Loki grumbles, scratching the back of his head with one newly-freed hand.

Thor laughs. "No you don't." He points. "I mean, just look at that boner."

 _Oh, fine._ There’s probably no point in fighting it. Loki whips the front waistband of his pants down to his balls. "It seems a waste to _just look it,_ " he hints, batting his eyelashes at his brother, dick bobbing merrily. "Don't you think so?" He curls back down – slowly, slowly - hand still hooked in his pants and everything _on display_.

"Mmm." Thor catches Loki behind the knees and tugs until both legs dangle off the side of the high bed, toes just brushing the floor. “I do.” One more sharp pull brings Loki's pants down around his knees. “Ohhh, have I ever missed this,” Thor breathes, voice tailing off into a low groan as he drops to his knees at Loki’s feet. “Seriously. You have absolutely no idea.”

“Maybe not,” Loki concedes, propping himself up on his elbows to watch, “but I’m willing to give you the chance to edify me.”

Thor buries his face in the angle of Loki’s hip, stubble scraping the soft skin of one upper inner thigh as he nuzzles close. “Mmm,” he says again, eyes hooded and nose buried out of sight in curly dark hair. “I missed the way you smell,” he says, sniffing deeply as Loki giggles.

“You’re an awful liar,” Loki tells him. “I smell like sweaty balls and you know it.”

“Ever the romantic,” Thor teases gently, sniffing again. “But you’re wrong there. You smell like _Loki,_ and I love it.” He rubs his whole face over Loki’s crotch, all rough whiskers and cool hair. “But stop trying to distract me, you; I’m supposed to be _edifying_. I missed the way you taaaaaaste,” he continues, stretching the _a_ as he licks a warm, soggy line across from thigh to thigh, slurping up and over Loki’s dick in the process.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Loki groans as he tries – fruitlessly - to buck up against his brother, toes slipping on the hardwood. “Nnnn.”

“And,” Thor tells him, quickly hooking several fingers between Loki’s dick and the flat of his stomach, “I missed the way you _sound_.” And with no further ado his brother’s mouth is _just fucking everywhere_ , licking and sucking from tip to root to tip again. Thor pulls off long enough to plant a wet kiss on Loki’s hipbone and then dives back in to take him way, way down.

Loki’s been biting his lip, stubbornly fighting to stay quiet. With that, though, he can’t help but fucking _yowl_.

~

“Most of all I missed this, I think,” Thor pants, kneeled up, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and coaxing Loki through the last few weakening spurts of a perfectly serviceable orgasm with the other.

Loki manages a shaky smile. “You know,” he says, struggling some to catch his own breath as well, “now that you mention it, I might just have missed that last bit myself.”

“Might,” Thor asks, eyebrows up.

“I can’t be positive,” Loki points out. “It may take a few more times to convince me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abject lessons in how not to handle a misunderstanding, brought to you courtesy of the brothers Odinson.

Odd.

Loki stands alone in the dark kitchen, frowning, a handful of mail clutched in one hand and his keys in the other. "Thor?"

Nothing.

" _THOR_ ," he yells, in case his brother is in the bedroom sleeping or something. Even though that makes no sense, not with how Loki’s come home to find the apartment pitch-black and the mail scattered just inside the door. " _THOR!!_ "

Not surprisingly, given the evidence; still nothing.

Loki throws mail and keys on the kitchen island, wincing as his keyring clangs against the side of an abandoned cooking pot. He kind of misses the residential facility, where someone else put away the dishes.

_Where people showed up when they were supposed to._

He checks his phone. It's shockingly bright in the darkness. Shockingly devoid of texts and calls, too, considering it's close to three hours later than Thor _always_ arrives. Yes, he could take the initiative and call his brother... but Loki just can't make himself do it. He can't. It's not the way their system works, for starters; forever and ever, for as long as the two of them have been crossing signals, it’s always been the late one who calls.

Not the woefully abandoned one.

Plus, to be perfectly honest, he’s a bit terrified as to what he might learn.

~

Over the past hour Loki has considered every eventuality. At length. If something had happened, someone would have called - called him, called Sif, called somebody. If he and Thor had _had plans_ , plans Loki had unwittingly forgotten (or, much more likely, his brother had forgotten to share), the same applies; his phone would be buzzing like a hornet's nest by now.

Thor can’t always call when he’s in court, it’s true. However, court really never goes anywhere near this late... and Thor rarely has court on Thursdays anyway.

Sif should be at work.

As far as Thor goes, then, that pretty much leaves _dead in an alley_ and _out on a date that's going far too well._

Either way, Loki is pretty fucking unhappy.

~

He tries to read. To watch a movie. Anything to distract himself from dwelling on the very limited, very unsavory alternatives.

After fifteen minutes or so of channel-surfing he gives up. No joy. He slumps miserably on the sofa, alternating between furious and devastated. Round and round, over and over, like a broken fucking record. Furiousdevastatedfuriousdevastated.

~

By the time he hears keys fumbling at the door, Loki's circling the drain so tightly that he's somehow managing to be both at the same time.

~

Thor stumbles over the threshold and turns to close the door, struggling to free his key from the deadbolt

Awesome. Not dead; that pretty much leaves _date_. By now Loki's long past considering other possibilities. "You're drunk," he accuses as Thor does increasingly frantic, noisy battle with the doorknob.

If he was expecting an apology (and, apparently, some poor sensitive part of him was; because this _smarts_ ), Loki doesn't get it. "So," his brother snaps, angry and defensive like all the best sneaky fucking liars, "what's your point?"

Loki stands in one smooth motion. He takes a step forward, right up in Thor’s, flushed, boozy-smelling face. "I thought we weren't drinking right now," he accuses, because that _is_ what they'd agreed. That, and he's the addict here; of the two of them, Thor should know better. "Where have you been," he asks - nastily, yes, but this _so_ far out of bounds that it's not even in the fucking schoolyard - when his brother doesn't even have the grace to answer.

"With dad, actually," Thor spits. "Not that it's any of your fucking business."

It should be better than a date. It isn’t, somehow, not with Thor acting like this. "With Odin," Loki says flatly. "That certainly explains a lot."

“You might recall I work for the man, Loki," Thor points out, and he couldn’t possibly sound more condescending. "He puts this roof over my head. I can't exactly tell him to fuck off every time he wants to talk to me." By now, Thor is just short of screaming. Like _he_ has any right to be pissed off. _He’s_ not the one who just sat here worrying himself silly while his brother partied merrily on Odin’s dime.

"Well, well," Loki snaps, leaning still closer. "I guess now we know your price, don't we, brother?"

Thor leans in as well, until their foreheads are nearly touching. "It's sure a lot higher than yours, isn't it, princess,” he offers, teeth bared and eyes blazing.

That is just about enough. Loki stiffens. "I will not," he shouts, right in his brother’s face, "be spoken to that way in my own home!"

And that’s the last thing he says. Thor grabs him roughly, big fingers digging hard into the sensitive flesh of his damaged jaw and crushing scars against bone. It hurts, _really_ hurts, to the point that Loki sees stars. He whimpers despite himself as his brother twists him this way and that. Fucking hell.

"Huh," Thor grunts. "That's funny,” he says, all sarcasm. “I don't see anyone holding a gun to your head and preventing you from finding another one!"

The pain makes him slow. Another one. _Another one._

Thor is _kicking him out_. Kicking him out to no one, with nowhere to go and nothing to take along but a bruised jaw and a broken fucking heart.

For several seconds the world is a broken vacuum, silent except for the air rushing in.

And then: "Loki," Thor says, face twisted with something that looks incongruously like pain, "I didn't- I don't- I'm so sor-."

He’s not falling for this shit. Not again. He’s not going to get suckered into thinking his brother has reconsidered, only to get beaten up and tossed out bodily. Anna would want him to be strong, to look out for himself. Loki takes a step back. "Just don't," he forces out against the hurt, all of it, keeping one hand up as if a little thing like that could even hope to protect him. “Don’t.”

Thor hesitates just long enough and Loki – faster than ever by comparison to Thor’s drunken clumsiness – gets past him.

~

He’s out the front door of the building like a shot and sprinting away, hair plastered to his face and brain failed all the way over into survival mode. Arms and legs pumping, heart pounding, he barely notices the rainwater pooled ankle-deep in spots on the empty sidewalk. He runs and runs; he’s at least four or five long, long blocks away, sucking wind and hunching a little to ease a side stitch, when he finally comes back into himself enough to notice his feet are hurting like crazy.

Ribcage heaving, Loki pulls up and looks around. It’s really dark here, scary dark, especially in this rain. Two streetlights in a row are out. The third flickers, pole canted at its base thanks to – from the look of the scraped, crumbling concrete – some long-ago car accident.

Everything about this place feels awfully, sickeningly familiar. He can all but hear Algrim’s voice. _Fuck_. Loki hunches over, clutching his stomach and gasping.

_You know, this actually may not have been the brightest of ideas_ , he has to admit to himself once his head stops spinning and his short-circuited brain can think again. He’d run pretty much without thinking, his whole self focused single-mindedly on _away_ with no thought at all given over to _where to_. As a result he’s managed to run himself right out of their- out of _Thor’s_ neighborhood, which isn’t bad, and into one that- well, it is.

Right this instant, with rain sluicing down like a waterfall, the street looks deserted. Loki, though, knows better; boarded-up storefronts like these draw all name of unsavory characters.

He should know; not all that long ago he _was_ one.

That gets through to him. Present situation notwithstanding Loki didn’t claw his way hand over bloody hand up the fucking mountain just to die out here in this barren wasteland at the whim of some petty criminal. He sighs, squares his shoulders, and starts off trudging – which really amounts to walking as briskly as he can, what with the bare, sore feet and his soaked pants threatening to fall down at the least provocation - back the way he came.

The return trip feels a whole lot longer than it probably is. When he finally gets to their – to _Thor’s;_ it’s pretty clear Loki isn’t actually welcome, not anymore, and at this point he’s not even sure if he wants to be – building, he- he can’t do it. He just can’t make himself open the big door and drag his sorry, dripping ass into the lobby.

Let alone activate the buzzer.

Instead, he turns and limps down to the far end of the little neighborhood convenience store next door to stand half-drowned and shivering under their awning.

There isn’t anyone around. After a while Loki sinks down to sitting, knees up and back propped against the front of the building. No one comes. He digs out his phone, which has somehow near-magically avoided death by water, but it’s pointless; no waiting texts, no missed calls.

_So it’s done, then. It’s over._

It’s really fucking over.

The only option left is to cry, so that’s exactly what he does.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Volstagg helps.

"Here you go," Volstagg says as he squeezes back into the car and passes a couple of worn, stained towels to Loki. "They're not much to look at but they don't smell half-bad. Take after their old man, they do," he adds with a snort. "Want to come over to my place and dry off, maybe talk for a little while?"

Loki snuffles. Even with the heater blasting, he's soaked to the bone and shaking too badly to completely hide it. "I- I don't-..." He doesn't even _know_ what he doesn't. He doesn't want to put Volstagg out, sure, but he doesn't want to go back to Thor's and he's not really positive he wants to soak to death either.

What he really needs is someone to make the choice for him. He shrugs. His teeth are fucking chattering.

Volstagg cranes back against his own door - big as he is, he hasn't got much space to maneuver - and reaches out to tousle Loki's dripping hair. "Just for a little while, my wet mop of a friend. Get a warm drink, put your stuff in the dryer and so on." He shifts back into driving position. "And then if you want I can bring you- wherever you need to go. That work?"

It might. It might not. Loki starts another shrug and then- well, it probably counts as a nod.

~

"You remember my wife, Hilde, right,” Volstagg asks, gesturing to the pretty woman who’s come down to join them – or head them off, more likely - in the foyer. “Hilde, this is-.”

“Loki, yes, I know,” she says, in the tone of voice that clearly implies her husband is in trouble. “Let me get you a towel,” she offers, still polite enough regardless. “I’ll be right back.”

Volstagg rolls his eyes in the direction of her retreating back as she briskly climbs the stairs. “Ignore her,” he say quietly. “She doesn’t like surprises.”

Especially the kind with a reputation and priors, Loki can only assume. “If it’s a problem I don’t need to st-,” he starts, but Volstagg cuts him short.

“Nonsense. She’s not going to throw you back out into the rain, not as cold and wet as you are. Now _me,_ that could be another story,” he adds, laughing, as she comes back down the steps holding a big, fluffy bath towel. “But then I’m better insulated.”

“What’s this talk of throwing people out,” she asks as Loki takes the towel with a heartfelt _thanks_ \- the house is so warm and comforting, and he wishes like hell he was _easier to cope with_ \- and promptly buries his face in it. It smells faintly of berries. He wants to cry.

“Loki here was just doubting your famed hospitality,” Volstagg tells her, nudging him gently. “I told him you’d sooner throw me out than you would him, any time.”

“Well, he certainly is better looking,” she says, as Loki tries to wring a little more water out of his hair. “Or at least he will be once he’s dry. Excuse us a moment,” she says, touching Loki’s wrist lightly; he can feel her changing gears. “The powder room is right there” – she points to a door a few feet down the hall – “If you want to get out of that wet stuff. Just give me ten minutes to finish up with the boys,” she goes on, angling her head at the stairs, “and we can throw everything in the dryer.”

Even on a shitty, shitty day he can take a hint when he has to. Loki sloshes stiffly towards the bathroom, trying his best to only leave the smallest possible wet trail behind him.

~

“Why don’t you just ask him,” Loki hears Volstagg telling Hilde a bit testily as he – towel up to his armpits, because normal people don’t need to be seeing the whole gunshot wound business – opens the bathroom door, “if it’s going to be a big problem for you and all.”

She huffs. “Because I don’t want to be an asshole. It’s obvious he needs help.”

Loki’s not up for this. Not tonight. “I can leave if it’s a problem,” he pipes up, trying to sound like it’s _fine._ “If you can just spot me something to wear, Volstagg,” he adds, because he isn’t sure he can bring himself to pull this wet shit back on, “I’ll get it back to you in a day or so.”

Hilde sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear any of that.” She glares at Volstagg for a long beat. “Look, our kids are all here. I don’t want to-.”

“No, I get it.” Loki can tell from the expression on her face where this is going. “I’m clean,” he says. “I have been for months, and I still am. I just had a problem with my brother and ran out without thinking about a coat. Or an umbrella.”

“Or shoes,” Volstagg says.

“That too.” He waits. No one says anything. “Really, I’ll go.” He turns sideways to them and starts to fumble his wet shirt back on.

“Wait, no,” Hilde says at last. “You’re not going back out there, not half-drowned like this. I’m sorry. Please, come sit down.”

~

The cocoa is warming; the blanket is cozy. He curls up in one of Volstagg’s huge armchairs, naked under his blanket cocoon but no longer shivering.

“So,” Volstaff summarizes, after Loki’s spent a good ten minutes sharing a lightly edited version of the evening’s story, “he went drinking with your father and then came home and acted typically brutish. Am I close?”

He shrugs, his drying hair tickling his shoulders. “Close enough.”

“None of this, sadly, is the least bit new and unusual,” Volstagg presses. “And yet here you are. What made this time special?”

“Me,” Loki tells him, and now that he’s started he can see there isn’t any good place to stop. “I promised my care team, before I left the place, that I wouldn’t stay in situations where I- where I might be in danger.”

Volstagg frowns. At least, his forehead frowns; it’s impossible to see what his mouth might be doing, under that aggressively bushy red beard and equally fearsome moustache. “Did he hit you?”

“No,” Loki says. Which is true. Mostly. “But I was afraid he might.” He catches Volstagg watching him working his jaw (which is surprisingly sore) and stops. “Plus,” he adds, quickly steering the conversation in a slightly different direction, “he kind of threw me out.”

“He _what?_ ”

Loki swallows. “He said some things that upset me. I called him on it; I told him he had no right to talk to me that way in my own home.” He feels the tears coming and blinks furiously. “And he pointed out that no one was making me stay… and I was more than welcome to find a new home.”

“That wasn’t very nice of him,” Volstagg says.

“Well, I was being a jerk, I suppose,” Loki concedes.

“Maybe you were.” Volstagg spreads his hands, almost knocking over his own mug of cocoa. “Maybe you weren’t. Either way, that doesn’t mean he gets to play so dirty.”

At that, Loki laughs. “Playing dirty is what we do. I should go,” he says as the dryer buzzes.

“Go where,” Volstagg asks, like he already knows the answer. Like he already knows Loki _has_ no answer.

Loki shrugs. “Away from here?” He stands, clutching the blanket to his chest. He doesn’t have a workable plan – any plan, for that matter – but he can’t stay. He mustn’t. He knows that. Not when he isn’t welcome.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Hilde says from the doorway. They both jump. “Loki, I’ve made up the convertible sofa-bed in the den. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world,” she warns him, finally relaxed enough to smile a little, “but at least it’s warm and dry.”

He’s not sure what to say. “You didn’t have to,” he tells her, feeling once again as thought he’s going to cry... not to mention _frayed at the edges_.” “I was just telling Volstagg I should be leaving.”

“Don’t be silly.” She shakes her head. “Let’s all get a good night’s sleep, why don’t we, and then we can decide what to do from here in the morning.”

He looks helplessly at Volstagg. “She’s right,” his friend offers. “Please stay. I’ll drop you off at the center tomorrow.” He holds up his phone. “I’ve already warned my chief mechanic I’m going to be a little late.”

Loki hesitates; he does like being warm, after all, a lot more than he likes being homeless. And the day treatment people can help get him sorted. “If you’re sure,” he says. He’s rapidly losing traction.

“We are,” they say in unison, and everyone laughs. “Do you want a t-shirt to sleep in,” Hilde asks as she turns to go.

He shoots her the best naughty, crooked grin he can muster, because she’s met him more than halfway and he owes her one. “Thanks,” he says, “but I sleep better naked.”

“Ah ah ah, you,” Volstagg says. He struggles to his feet with a long groan. “Don’t you be giving my wife ideas.”

Loki shrugs. They’re good people, Hilde and Volstagg. He might almost feel marginally better.

~

Volstagg squeezes his shoulder, not hard. “The den’s this way,” he says, steering Loki in the right direction. “Make yourself comfortable. Or, at least,” he adds as he shuts off the hall lights, “try.”

Loki does. It’s not too bad, not if he positions himself carefully. Even so, once he’s finally alone again, he – as close to silently as he can, because he doesn’t want to be a _bother_ \- cries himself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting home takes a little evasion.

“I don’t think he wants you gone,” Volstagg tells Loki as he drives him to day treatment. “Not at all. But that doesn’t mean you have to go back there. It’s up to you.”

Loki sighs. “Where else would I go? If I wanted to, I mean,” he amends, “which I don’t think I do.” He expects he sounds about as confused as he feels, probably. There’s a lot going on in his head just now.

Volstagg shrugs. “You could stay with us for a while, worst case.”

It’s far from the worst case, but Loki doesn’t want to fuel Volstagg’s fire. “Oh, yeah, Hilde would fucking _love_ that,” he says instead.

“She’s fine with it,” Volstagg tells him, laughing. “This was actually her idea. Who knows? Maybe she has ulterior motives.”

Hitting on the crazy druggie little brother of her husband’s friend isn’t likely to be among them. “It’s the towel,” Loki says anyway, playing along. “I look so damned good in a towel. It works every time.”

~

“Promise me you’ll think about it,” Volstagg says as he drops Loki at the center door. “I want you to do what’s right for _you_ for a change.”

~

“Shoes, Loki?” The guard at the front desk raises his eyebrows.

“It’s a long story,” Loki says. It is, very long, and he’s not telling it here. “Can I borrow some slippers?”

~

“Rough night, eh,” asks the therapist as soon as Loki, slippers flapping, walks up to the counter. She’s not the one he usually sees; _his person_ isn’t in today. Even so, there seems to be no escaping it.

“That obvious, huh?” He shrugs. He knows he looks, well, like he cried for hours and didn’t dry his hair and… came to day treatment with no shoes on. All of which is bound to raise questions.

“Can we talk for a minute,” she asks, and that comes as no surprise whatsoever.

~

“My brother and I got into an argument,” he tells her once her office door closes behind them. “I had to leave, and spent the night with a friend. It was a good, clean place,” he hastens to assure her before she can even start wondering, because he is not going for drug testing with _crazy person hair_ and half-falling-off slippers. “The guy’s married to someone who would never tolerate that sort of thing, and they have lots of kids.” He tries smiling; he’s not sure it works very well. “He’s way too busy to have a habit, even if his wife wouldn’t kill him for it. And, trust me, she would.”

Her resigned, mildly-suspicious expression gradually gives over to one of concern. “Do you have someplace to go tonight,” she asks. “Somewhere safe? Because if we need to place you, I should get someone started on it right now… it can take all day, especially in this weather.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. I can probably go back to my brother’s… if not, the family that helped me out last night offered to let me stay with them for a while.”

She flips through his file. “Did your brother hurt you?” She looks especially worried now, eyebrows pinched together, and Loki doesn’t like where this is going.

“It was just an argument,” he says. “We said some things. It’s fine.” He knows she’s simply trying to help – everyone’s trying to help – but he can’t handle it right now. “Seriously,” he says, making every effort to sound calm and stable, “it’s fine. But thank you. It’s good to know I can get help here,” he adds, because that’s part of being _calm and stable_ as well, “if I need it.”

If he gives off the impression he’s shutting down, they’re going to step in on his behalf; Loki’s certain of that. 

He’s not interested. Not in their intervention. Maybe he should be, but he isn’t.

~

“Are you _sure?_ ” Volstagg doesn’t fall for his calm-and-rational act nearly as easily as the center staffers did earlier. Then again, he and Vostagg have have known one another a whole lot longer.

“I’m sure. It’s fine,” Loki assures him, taking a small bite of a french fry; Volstagg though they should stop for snacks and _a talk_ at the end of the day, rather than going straight- well, anywhere. Sometimes Loki is amazed at how much Volstagg can pack away. They’re eating their fill in the car, not inside, because _no shirt, no shoes, no service_ applies even in the sketchiest of diners. “Really. It’s _fine_ ,” he stresses when Volstagg gives him _the look_.

Seriously, those five words in one combination or another account for easily half of what he’s said today. He’s so done with it. He just wants to go home.

If he still has a home. But he’s not going to dwell on _that_ just now, because _it’s not going to come to that_ and he already has enough problems.

When they finally get back on the road, after what feels like an eternity, Loki unlocks his phone and stares blankly at last night’s _ily_ for the remainder of the ride.

~

“You’re sure about this?” They’re standing in the building lobby, Volstagg frowning and Loki bundled up in what can only be the world’s largest hoodie.

“I am,” Loki says, even though he really isn’t. He reaches out with one finger – his nails need a repaint yet again – and pushes the proper button. “Hello,” the speaker crackles after a worrisome delay. If Loki didn’t know better, he’d say Thor sounded tentative. Scared, even.

Before he can answer, though, Volstagg steps in. “It’s Volstagg,” he announces briskly, crisp and businesslike, “and Loki. Can we come up?”

Thor says nothing; nothing at all. For a moment Loki thinks his heart has finally stopped. Of all the funny things to die from.

When the lock releases with a loud click, he heaves a huge breath and gets _the look_ from Volstagg yet again. Loki reminds himself sternly that he needs to be more careful.

~

Thor opens the door and steps back. Volstagg takes up about 90% of the doorway; Loki has to squeeze past him to get inside.

The look on his brother’s face is- odd. He can’t even begin to decide how to read it. He can’t tell if he’s in trouble or not, actually. He probably is, of course.

“I didn’t take my keys,” he explains, shrugging a little, “so I couldn’t let myself in. Sorry.” He can’t decide if he should step forward or- or leave. Instead he stays frozen, unable to manage either.

“Don’t be,” Thor says quietly. And then, a little surprisingly, he reaches out as though he’s offering a- a hug.

After a brief hesitation, partly because he can’t believe his own eyes and partly because he’s not even sure what he wants anymore, Loki takes his brother up on it.

"You sure you'll be okay here," Volstagg asks Loki, sounding a little skeptical. "Because if you're not - not sure, not okay - you have my number. Call me and we'll work something out."

Loki takes a step back and studies Thor’s face. His brother looks just as confused as he is. Confused, or afraid. Either way, it doesn’t seem as though there’s going to be any hitting. "Thank you," he tells Volstagg sincerely, “and thank Hilde for me. I do appreciate it. But I think I will be okay here." He hopes he will be. If not, maybe they _can_ work something out. Maybe.

Volstagg still isn’t quite ready to let it all go. "And you ran this by your shrink,” he asks Thor, in not nearly as nice a tone as he’s been using with Loki, “and he’s okay with this?"

Thor nods. "Yes. He gave me rules.”

_Huh. Interesting._

"Okay, then,” Volstagg concedes, sounding quite a bit like it isn’t. “I’ll just be letting myself out.” The floor creaks as he shifts. “I've gotta say, I'm not thrilled about this, but I'll defer to greater minds here. Don't prove me wrong, you two,” he admonishes. Neither one of them answers.

At least, when he finally does leave, Volstagg doesn’t slam the goddamned door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good intentions do not guarantee good results.

_I used to like it when you hit me,_ Loki’d told his brother, after a long, uncomfortable conversation about- well, about how much Thor apparently wished their situation had somehow not been incestuous. Which – while it may very well be true - is not at all what he’d needed to hear just then. Not with everything between them strained and miserable. _It felt like cutting,_ Loki had explained, _but without the awful guilt._

And then, instead of calling it a day, he had gone on to say what in retrospect may have been the dumbest thing ever: _But they're teaching me in treatment to accept my feelings, and I'm not sure I like you hitting me anymore._ And just in case that hadn’t burned whatever was left of their situation completely to the ground he’d kept going, dousing the last bits with kerosene: _In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't like it. And even if I do, I know it isn't good for me._

Yeah, like _that_ hasn’t come back to bite him in the ass. Over and over and over.

~

"You about done in there?" The social worker appears in the doorframe just as Loki is checking his phone for his brother's credit card information.

"Give me three minutes," he says politely, because this is an inopportune time for a confrontation. "One last thing to finish up here."

The guy nods. "Okay. Just remember you're not the only person who needs to check his email."

Loki makes a _sorry_ face. "I'll try to hurry," he promises. He can promise the trivial things these days.

And he does in fact hurry: He takes a last quick look at the contents of his shopping cart - a nice variety, everything from the basics through a quality, well-reviewed Violet Wand knockoff and a solid assortment of leather restraints (because most rope makes him itch, and silk rope reminds him unpleasantly of Scott) - and pulls the trigger, keying in Thor's information with what probably amounts to a little too much amusement.

His phone buzzes as the order confirmation arrives.

Excellent. He clears cache and closes the browser, says a quick _thanks_ to the IT guys who managed to filter for drugs but not pr0n, and pops out into the hall.

"Sorry," he tells his frowning fellow client - a woman he’s seen around but barely knows otherwise - waiting just outside the so-called computer lounge. "That took a little longer than I expected."

Speaking of expecting, Loki expects there will be _a discussion_ this evening. All in all it was a large purchase, over two grand, and Thor is as vanilla as a Sonic milkshake; there is simply no way the credit card company will let the whole thing pass unverified.

~

When he gets home, though, there's- well, there's just not.

"How was your day," Thor asks a little stiffly... but everything between them is a little stiff nowadays and this particular encounter isn't noticeably different.

"Fine," Loki says, elbowing his brother out of the way en route to the refrigerator.

Not long ago that would have bought him a shove in return. A little roughhousing, and perhaps some quality sex.

Now, though, Thor just steps carefully aside and lets him pass.

~

Loki is bored. Bored and confused and hurt. He's not sure what he did, exactly - it started around the time of the whole thing with Volstagg, and the subsequent conversation about not hitting; at that point Thor had been quick to concur (and had confessed he was already seeking treatment, before it had even happened), though, and everything had seemed like it was going to be fine - but he’s quite positive he isn't enjoying the ensuing punishment.

In fact, it may not even _be_ punishment. Maybe this is supposed to be a good thing. All he knows for certain, though, is that they are living the most sedate, conventional suburban life an incestuous nutjob and his brother can possible manage… to the point that it makes life at the day treatment center seem exciting.

Whatever this is about, Loki absolutely fucking hates it. If this is really Thor's idea of heaven, _forever_ is going to feel like an awfully long time.

~

"Are you still awake," his brother asks quietly from somewhere near the bedside table.

Loki is, but he carefully doesn't show it. So much as one sign of life and he's bound to be sentenced to yet another slow, gentle, delicate bout of _lovemaking_ , at which point his head may explode.

After a minute or so Thor sighs, louder than he probably means to.

Loki, never more grateful for the cover of darkness, finds he has to bite his lip in order not to laugh. He isn’t sure why; it’s not like this is the least bit funny.

~

Express shipping works even better than anticipated. Based on the tracking information he checks on his ride home the loot, rather than showing up on a normal night, arrived today, which is Thursday… meaning his brother invariably stumbled onto the box a couple of hours ago while he was still yawning his way through group therapy.

If their places had been reversed, Loki knows he couldn’t have stopped himself from peeking.

~

“I think this is yours,” Thor offers before Loki can even get the door latched, nodding towards the sizable cardboard shipping carton perched on the kitchen island. He looks- edgy. Intense. Beyond that Loki can't quite read his brother.

“Not like it would be yours, now, would it,” he scoffs. It's not impossible Thor doesn't know what's inside the box, sure, but it's very, very unlikely. Even without peeking, which by all evidence his brother somehow hasn’t.

“It could be,” Thor shoots back, square-jawed and defensive, and Loki wonders – painfully - exactly when and how they stopped being lovers.

~

“Are you seeing someone?” He blurts it out without really thinking. It's the only explanation he can even make fit on short notice.

His brother flat-out _gasps._ His open-mouthed, bug-eyed expression couldn't be more spontaneous or more genuinely shocked. Not that, then. “Of course n-not,” he stammers. “Why the fuck would you say that?” Why the fuck would you think it?"

~

Thor is pretty much yelling by the end. It's a nice change, frankly. Loki isn't even sure they've argued since the day he'd told his brother off for treating him like so much dirty laundry. He kind of misses it. At the very least, he misses a real connection.

He shrugs, squinting at Thor. “You don’t seem interested anymore," he tells his brother. "Never mind,” he huffs, then, because it just isn’t worth it. “Pretend I never mentioned it.” He slides the box off the island - it's heavy, probably close to 25 pounds of happy freedom - and marches off down the hall.

~

“What did you get,” Thor calls out from behind him. His brother's voice is tight.

Loki stops and twists to look back towards the kitchen, arms straining against the weight of the thing. “Nothing of any interest to you," he snaps. He’s really not in the mood to chat about this; he has things to do and yet again you-know-fucking-who is interfering.

“How do you know," Thor asks, more than a little defiant now, and it seems as though someone else is working towards a bit of a mood as well. "Try me,” he challenges as he makes his way down the hall.

~

Loki squats neatly. He plops the carton on the floor, slits the seal with a pen (no knives for the wicked), and carefully stacks all the inner boxes on the floor between the bed and the wall. He desperately wants to inventory everything, to run his fingers over the soft leather and perhaps even test the electric toys on himself, but he's not doing any of that with Thor watching awkwardly from the doorway. _Another time,_ he promises himself silently. _Another time._ It’s not like his brother can stand there forever.

Except maybe he can.

When the box is empty Loki straightens, hands to hips. Apparently he’s going to have to work to earn himself some alone time. "Try you, eh?"

Thor swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. "Yes. If you want to."

He's not sure he does, honestly, but asking his brother to leave seems unnecessarily obnoxious. Even for him. That, and he does have to keep living here, after all is said and done. He looks the boxes over - there is absolutely no way in hell he is topping Thor, not out of nowhere like this; even he can't let himself pretend there aren't nine million ways _that_ could and would backfire – and ultimately settles for wrist cuffs and a blindfold.

How bad can it be?

~

Pretty bad, apparently.

Thor is impossibly tense, fumble-fingered to the point of uselessness.

Loki is able to cuff himself without a problem, and even gets the blindfold on without catching more than a few long strands of hair, but he can’t very well clip his own wrists to the headboard.

Not only does his brother have to be talked through every single step – and, good grief, has he never leashed a fucking _dog_ before? How hard is a simple swivel-snap clip to fasten? – but he first launches more than a token protest before finally shutting up and cooperating.

Holy hell, Loki misses Lila.

And then Thor _just sits there on the bed_ like he’s completely forgotten what the two of them are even there for.

“Get on with it,” Loki snaps, tossing his head violently from side to side and kicking out blindly, any last traces patience long since exhausted. “We’re not talking rocket science here,” _although it might as well be,_ from the look of how this is not going. “It’s _fucking._ Seriously, even _you_ must know what to do.”

If only.

In the end, Thor does get the job done, more or less. He’s so careful and gentle that Loki wants to scream, but it’s still almost better than no fucking at all. Almost.

~

His brother takes forever afterwards, in the shower. It may well be the longest ever bathroom stay unaccompanied by a hangover in the Storied and Mighty Life of Thor Odinson.

That’s okay, though; Loki spends the time greatly amusing himself by electrically (and with the dial turned up barely enough to even make it _temporary,_ because oh what a conversation _that_ would be) branding _lila_ , in neat script, on his own left palm.

He has everything put away by the time his brother surfaces.

“Hi,” Thor says, and it sounds like a question.

Once again, just to be on the safe side, Loki pretends he’s sleeping.


End file.
